Jen had a conference in London and so we headed down there for a week. I like to try out different places to stay and for this trip we booked one of those canal boats. It was moored on Regent’s Canal at Coal Drop Yard.
I’ve stayed on a few types of boat and quite liked this one. It was tall enough for me to rarely bang my head and stable enough. The only downside was that the electricity supply wasn’t strong enough to charge my laptops, so much of my working time was spent in the nearby library.
You’d think that there would be plenty of options in London for sporting activities, but the only event that appealed was a trip to Romford dogs. Oddly, there wasn’t much going on gig-wise either. We went to see Sparks at Hammersmith Apollo, which is where I saw five Mott the Hoople gigs within a week, back in 2009. Looking back, I’m pleased that I finally got to see Mott and I’m equally pleased that the band enjoyed their reunion. It’s a particularly poignant memory in the week that Mick joined Buffin and Pete in no longer being with us.
Sparks were good. It’s always a fun atmosphere and they have a similarly dedicated fanbase to that of Mott. Ron is pushing eighty, with kid brother Russell not far behind. Hopefully they will continue for a while yet.
Earlier in the week I’d been up to Newcastle, where Paul and I had seen another set of siblings in The Molotovs at Think Tank. It’s a small venue with a low ceiling, perfect for a mod-revivalist band. They signposted a lot of their influences, but none more so than The Jam. The singer, who was only seventeen, was reminiscent of Weller at the same age. The bassist was less reminiscent of Foxton as she was an eighteen-year-old girl, but she had a similar presence. I’d very happily see them again, ideally in similar sized venues.
Final gig of the week was advertised as an ‘Anti-Folk Festival’ at the London Hospital Tavern, Whitechapel. It seemed as if the pub bill was organized by the main guy from David Cronenberg’s Wife. As he was able to guess my name when we went in, it’s possible that Jen and I held the only advance tickets bought.
I should have seen David Cronenberg’s Wife last year when they were supporting Jeffrey Lewis at The Georgian, but I was a bit tired and so didn’t bother. Big mistake as they were excellent and, like The Molotovs, I’ll add them to my list of bands to keep an eye out for.
Ok, less music and more dogs. Greyhound racing is dying off and with Crayford closing down earlier in the year, Romford is the last remaining London track. It might well be a case of now or never. Jen and I took the Elizabeth line eastwards and then walked back towards the city past pubs and car showrooms, neither of which had any customers on a Saturday morning.
It was free to get in, presumably with the costs being met by whoever needs televised racing to sell to betting shops. A couple with a toddler and a baby came in just before us and it reminded me of taking Tom to the greyhound racing at Cleveland Park when he was three or four years old. I may have given him the impression that we were going to a special zoo, just as I did with the fish counter at Tesco.
It was a really hot day, so I was grateful for the air conditioning in the main stand. There were around sixty or so people inside, which is a lot more than I’d expected. I’d assumed that nobody would be interested, but it was more like day care for old people.
A solitary bookie turned up after four races, but I didn’t see anyone betting with him. I’m surprised that on-course betting survives in the days of smart phones and bookies Apps. Maybe there are pockets of people still using cash.
I was also surprised to see the bar open and a food counter downstairs selling bacon and sausages in buns and baguettes. There was a big meeting at the same track that evening, so maybe they were just warming up for what would much likely be a substantial crowd.
Despite being given a racecard, we didn’t study the form, and our selections mainly came from Jen liking a dog’s name. The only exception was when we eavesdropped on a woman sat behind us and piggybacked on her excellent selection. It was enough to mitigate our losses to just under three quid over the six races that we hung about for.
Trail of the Lion King 